


Black Hills Jade

by StellarLibraryLady



Series: Weird But Beautiful [6]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Bickering, Comfort Food, Food, Hidden meanings, Humor, Lunch, M/M, Mild Language, Misunderstandings, Pre-Relationship, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:08:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24819670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellarLibraryLady/pseuds/StellarLibraryLady
Summary: It's just a normal lunch on the Enterprise.Or is it?  Just because McCoy and Spock are bickering again shouldn't make things normal.Jim Kirk points out that their bickering could have deeper meanings.  And might even indicate hidden yearnings.The guys are stunned.  The kid is really coming out of left field on this one!Or is he?
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Series: Weird But Beautiful [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1761436
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	Black Hills Jade

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a little piece of naughtiness to celebrate my fourth anniversary of joining AO3.

McCoy set down his partially eaten sandwich, looked at Spock intently, and frowned in interest. “Have you always been the color of Black Hills jade?”

“I have always been the color I am, and that is that,” Spock answered with a sniff of disdain as he tried to keep his attention on his borscht. It was a singular treat to have something like this on the menu, and Spock meant to enjoy it instead of letting Dr. McCoy’s ramblings upset his digestion. The medico always seemed to have some strange question to ask or some illogical theory to put forth. That did not mean that Spock had to validate McCoy by becoming part of the discussion, but generally that was what happened.

"I must admit," Spock continued since McCoy seemed so interested. "There are certain occasions when my complexion darkens because of undue stress or turbulence. Or unflattering scrutiny," he added as a broad hint about his appreciation of McCoy's interest.

"Nah, that's not it," McCoy mumbled. He stretched his neck and twisted his head at odd angles as he tried to look closer at Spock’s face without rising from his chair in the mess hall. Spock was trying his best to ignore McCoy's gyrations, because he thought that McCoy was trying to aggravate him like a mischievous puppy wanting attention. “Maybe it’s the lighting," McCoy decided, but still concerned. "But I’d swear that your skin has a particular milky shade today that’s reminiscent of Wyoming jade.”

“I thought you compared my coloring to Black Hills jade,” Spock shot back.

“Potato. Potahto. Tomato. Tomahto. Let’s call the whole thing off,” McCoy recited in a sing-song voice as he quoted the old Gershwin tune.

Spock looked particularly haughty at McCoy. It was a pet peeve of his if someone introduced new factors into an established topic of discussion, something that McCoy was guilty of doing. Spock had the notion that McCoy often spurted out the first thing that popped into his head, then had to hammer and chisel out a comfortable niche for it somewhere in the discussion. Maybe McCoy just needed to prove to himself and the world at large (mainly Spock) that his semantic gymnastics could be accomplished, whether it was logical for McCoy to include the rogue word or phrase into the conversation or not. McCoy's creative use of whatever was floating around out there in the ether and needing a grammatical home aggravated Spock on an elementary level-- IF he allowed himself to get aggravated, and IF he ever would allow himself to sink to McCoy's level, and IF he ground his teeth over the fractured logic lying shattered around in the aftermath of McCoy's manipulations, and IF (and this was a particularly large biggie) he allowed himself to have a pet peeve, that is.

That was a lot of IFs. But we're talking Spock here who traditionally sheltered in place in a rather large fortress of his own making.

But if anyone could worm his way around Spock's carefully constructed defenses of not letting anyone in, it was Leonard McCoy. Because as erratic as McCoy sometimes seemed, he knew that Spock had certain weaknesses. Take now, for instance. McCoy had managed to pique Spock's curiosity, and Spock could feel himself being sucked down into the vortex. But he was not going willingly or naively, because he felt the need to point out certain points to McCoy which the medico was obviously and flagrantly ignoring.

"Potato? PoTAHto?" Spock questioned.

"Tomato. Tomahto." McCoy shrugged, unimpressed. "Whatever."

As if McCoy had no idea how those phrases had gotten into the conversation! Spock really should bring him to task for such sloppiness!

“Doctor, what do vegetables with rhyming names have to do with a semi-precious stone found in the upper reaches of the American West? I really do object to their entering into the discussion at this point.”

And McCoy was getting annoyed with Spock's nitpicking. "At what point should they be allowed to enter then?"

"At the beginning, when you are offering the paradigms of your argument."

"What if they are surprise witnesses? That always adds drama to a courtroom movie. Perry Mason loved to do it. So why not here?"

"We are not discussing the methods for writing scripts for literary productions. Neither are we discussing whatever Perry Mason chose to love."

"I should hope to shout we ain't!" Several other diners glanced his way with cursory interest.

Spock drew back to protect his sensitive ears. "And I hope that you are not going to engage in other examples of raising your voice. You really need to use your inside voice in an enclosed area such as this is. Save the other one for appropriate venues such as sporting events in a football stadium or a forested area where you are trying to reassemble a troop of lost scouts scattered among the pine trees and hawthorn thickets."

McCoy looked puzzled. And annoyed. "What the hell are you talking about?! What football game?! What troop of lost scouts?! What hawthorn thickets?!"

"I do not know, Doctor. That is what I am asking you to explain. I am simply using your paradigms which, I might repeat, were added late to the criteria of the discussion."

McCoy studied him critically and made the only conclusion he could. "You get off on this, don't you?"

"I do not recognize what you are trying to tell me--"

"That's 'cause it's something you can't compute. It's slang. But even you should be able to figure it out by what I am saying. It's how you get your jollies, ain't it? It's your thing, like some guys like to handle other people's old shoes or others like to sniff the toilets in whore houses."

Spock looked repulsed and at that point, Kirk found his dinner plate utterly fascinating.

"I give up," McCoy conceded. "Even I'm not tough enough to take you on."

"I am sorry if you find me to be so much of a challenge, Doctor. But I am not the one conceding defeat. I am managing quite well, thank you," he snipped.

"Oh, you poor bastard!" McCoy moaned. "You just don't know how much of a lost cause you really are. Maybe there's something hallucinogenic in that evil looking mess you're lapping up like you haven't seen food in a week," he remarked, nodding at the borscht.

"Perhaps that is the case. At least I have an excuse for the points I am making. What is your defense? That chicken salad sandwich appears to be quite normal. So it must be the person eating it who is at fault."

“Jim! H-e-l-p-p!” McCoy pleaded.

Jim Kirk grinned and wiped gravy off his chin as he enjoyed a mouthful of the rich beef stew that had arrived on the same shipment as Spock’s borscht and McCoy's chicken salad. 

Real food like this was sure better tasting than those funny shaped and oddly colored food supplements that Starfleet had first sent with their adventurers. It had been a good idea on paper, those food supplements. But in practice, the crew soon tired of those funny shaped meal cubes and rebelled. They wanted fresh food and lots of it. So that was how starship crews became consumers as well as explorers of new planets. The trading thus established with natives provided the natives with a source of revenue for their crops and a bargaining chip with the rest of the universe. Planets became established stops on trade routes, and settlers arrived to supplement the work force and enrich the culture. The natives were exposed to the knowledge of other civilizations while ideas and higher thinking flowed freely among all sorts of people.

And all because the crews of starships demanded a variety of meats, wholesome grains, and fresh produce in their diets instead of funny shaped meal cubes!

“Problem, Bones?” Kirk asked jovially as if he wasn’t aware of the morass of misunderstandings swirling around his two top officers. Nothing different there. The two guys were always entangled in some sort of verbal barrage or other. The trick for Kirk was to act mildly interested, if possible, and slightly concerned, if the arguments between Spock and McCoy got sharp edges to them and required Kirk’s intervention to smooth them out. He doubted if Solomon's wisdom was tested as much as his was by his two!

“Spock is being a pain in the ass again!” McCoy wailed.

Kirk’s eyes sparkled with glee. No sharp edges yet.

Spock leaned toward McCoy. “I assure you, Doctor, that if I intended to be a discomfort to you in that part of your anatomy, I would be aware of it long before you would. How else would I be able to advance an assault on your posterior if I did not have a worthy plan of attack in mind long before I began my campaign? I am certain that such an attractive and outstanding edifice such as yours is heavily fortified, but even the most impregnable strongholds have eventually crumbled in the face of a determined adversary. And I, sir, am just that sort of contender. I always conquer my objective.” Spock pulled back, quite contended with the assured way he had thrown down the gauntlet-- if he had known what that idiom meant, that is.

McCoy's eyebrows nearly met his nose. "What the hell?! What does that all mean?! Are you planning to attack my rear citadel?! Why?" He considered a moment. "When?!"

Spock settled with a smug look. "An advancing general does not reveal his plan of assault. Just be advised that it will be swift and hard and without mercy."

McCoy looked uncomfortable. "Not liking many of these details."

"You were not meant to," Spock reassured him with triumph. "It is a phase of psychological warfare."

McCoy frowned. “Eh? What kind of shit talk is that?”

“Your rebuttal is not very elegant, Doctor, nor is it very profound. But quite sufficient for maintaining your side of our discussion,” Spock said with a great deal of satisfaction and hidden innuendo as he drew back. “I would not expect any more from you, given the limitations of your debating skills. Now if you will excuse me, I wish to give this lovely borscht the attention it so richly deserves.” He turned once more to his luncheon plate.

McCoy’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? The limitations of my debating skills?”

Uh, oh, Kirk thought. A dreaded sharp edge had entered the conversation. Things could get dicey unless Kirk was vigilant.

Because Spock was baiting McCoy again. He hadn’t been a moment before, but now he was. He was intentionally being a prick, and he knew it. But maybe he was getting back at McCoy for his embarrassing interest in the color of his skin.

The paradigms of the “discussion” had quietly shifted on their axis, too.

McCoy was glaring at Spock who deliberately wasn’t answering.

It was at this point that everything got bizarre and ridiculous for Kirk. Sometimes a devil takes ahold of him and he decides to add to the general mayhem. If a situation becomes a farce, Kirk wants to add fuel to it. As long as there were no sharp edges or matters didn't deteriorate into a fist fight, Kirk was going to enjoy the wildness of what was going on. Because he was hearing something that neither one of them apparently was hearing, and he wanted to take advantage of it.

Kirk decided to help McCoy. Or Spock. Or muddy the field. He really didn’t know which. But he had decided to shift the “discussion” on its axis some more. Hard telling what would happen then. But Kirk couldn't ignore this elephant in the room! It was way too delicious and promised all sorts of goodies for the evil-thinking Kirk.

“Back to Spock being a pain in your ass, Bones,” Kirk said casually to McCoy. “Once again, I believe that he has made a literal interpretation of what you said.” He gave McCoy a wise look. “You know how he could do that, don’t you? Be a pain in your ass? A real pain? A real physical pain?” he prompted. “Literally?"

"Huh?" McCoy questioned, trying to get it all to compute for him. What was Kirk trying to say?!

Kirk was on a roll, so he continued. "And why did you say ‘again?’ Has he been at you before back there? Or if not, is he planning that type of attack on you sometime in the immediate future? Say around bedtime? Now the next burning question is, should your rendezvous be in his quarters or yours? There's always the danger that I'll hear if you guys are going at it hot and heavy in Spock's room.” He settled back with a very pleased look on his face and wondered what that volley would bring.

“Oh,” McCoy mumbled as he thought it over. Then he understood what Kirk meant, and McCoy blushed such a deep shade of red that some onlooker might have thought that he was trying to compete with the color of Spock’s borscht.

Kirk smirked, proud of his wit that was more blatant accusations than funny. Even Kirk can go overboard.

“Oh!” McCoy exclaimed as if he had just gotten the wind knocked out of him. 

Kirk frowned. “Bones?” He hadn't expected that much of a reaction out of McCoy. A growl maybe, but not this general alarm. Kirk must have really hit an exposed nerve that not even McCoy had realized was sensitive.

McCoy jumped to his feet and jiggled the table. “Oh!! That's... that's... awful!”

Spock frowned. The table jiggling had jarred his food in its dish. Then he glanced at McCoy’s face in distress. “Doctor? Is there a problem? What is awful?”

“I-- I--” McCoy gulped. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.” He glared at Kirk. “Not at all!”

“Like what?” Spock prodded. He was curious now about what had embarrassed McCoy so much.

“Never mind,” McCoy snarled at him while he fought to recover from his embarrassment. He continued to glare at Kirk who was returning the steady stare. “Kirk's just being a sewer mouth, that's all.”

“I’m just using the conversational techniques that you two employ,” Kirk said in his defense, seeing out of the corner of his eye the confusion on Spock’s face about Kirk being accused of having a “sewer mouth.” That must bring all sorts of odd images to the literal Vulcan that were perhaps not the best topics of conversation at the dinner table. 

“Maybe for once you two can hear how you sound to other people,” Kirk continued.

“We don’t sound that bad!” McCoy barked.

“You don’t sound that good, either.”

“Captain, I do not understand what was so alarming in what Dr. McCoy originally said,” Spock complained.

"You two were talking about two different things," Kirk said.

"And then our enterprising captain cobbled another meaning out of it," McCoy growled.

"A meaning that any other casual listener might've gotten, too. As I did," Kirk said in his own defense.

"Yeah, if you think like Kirk," McCoy snapped. "That's why he's a sewer mouth."

Spock still looked confused. "Would you be kind enough to share your interpretation, Captain, so I might understand Dr. McCoy's anger and embarrassment?"

"Why not ask me?!" McCoy snapped. "I'm right here! And I'm the one who's angry and embarrassed! Ask me!"

"I think not, Doctor. You are also emotionally compromised. And I fear that you might color the captain's viewpoints so that they are unnecessarily slanted to substantiate your thesis."

"Are you suggesting that I might stretch the truth some?!" McCoy thundered. "Why, you pointy-eared hobgoblin! I couldn't come close to coloring Kirk's story the way he has! Hell, not even a box of sixty-four Crayola Crayons could help me out! Forget that! Not even a box of a hundred and twenty with special glitter colors and a built-in sharpener thrown in could come close!" 

Kirk motioned for Spock to come closer and huddled near so that other crew in the mess hall, especially the women, would not hear. “Spock, there’s, ah, an activity that one lover performs on another while they are in private. What McCoy said could be interpreted to mean that activity. How could you be a literal pain in the ass to Dr. McCoy? Think about it. Visualize. Picture yourself at McCoy's backdoor. His citadel, if you will. What do you see you two guys doing? Look with your imagination for once instead of your logic.”

Spock frowned in thought. Kirk and McCoy could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he thought over all that Kirk had told him.

"Imagine that you and McCoy are standing in line," Kirk continued in his soft, modulated voice. "You're behind him. Right behind him. Pressed up against him." Kirk saw McCoy roll his eyes. "Now imagine that you're not standing. And not wearing any clothes."

McCoy's mouth flew open, but he said nothing.

Spock frowned. Apparently, even his imagination could not go this far.

Kirk gave Spock a wise, knowing look. "You're lying down. Together. In bed."

Spock stared intently at Kirk, as if to ascertain his meaning.

Kirk's wise look deepened.

A look of horror came over Spock's face. His shoulders jerked erratically and his dark eyes widened. “Oh. No! Not that!”

“Yeah,” Kirk said. “That!”

“So when I said that I should be planning an attack, it sounded more than an advance on a citadel,” Spock offered.

“It sounded like you were going to bring that citadel to its knees,” Kirk agreed. He raised an eyebrow slightly while a grin played around his lips "And once again, literally. I understand that being on the knees is a good position."

“Hmm,” Spock pondered with a look of deep concern.

“Yeah,” Kirk agreed. “’Hmm’ covers the situation quite nicely.”

Spock glanced at McCoy whose deep red coloring was almost completely faded. “In future differences of opinion, perhaps we should choose our words more judiciously.”

Some fire snapped in McCoy’s eyes. “Everything was okay until you started giving details about how you were going to plan an assault on my posterior! My citadel, if you will! No wonder it sounded like you were gonna corner me and screw the living shi--”

“Bones,” Kirk said sharply. “Inside voice.” He glanced around. “Mixed company language.”

“Oh, yeah,” McCoy said meekly. “Sorry.” Then he glared. “But that green-blooded hobgoblin gets me so worked up!”

“Have you ever asked yourself why?” Kirk inquired conversationally.

“Eh?” McCoy echoed.

“There he is again,” Spock pointed out dryly. “Presenting us with another great example of his electrifying debate techniques.”

“What the hell?!” McCoy snapped with blazing eyes as he started to jump to his feet.

Kirk pushed McCoy back into his seat. “And there you are, Mr. Spock,” Kirk mocked. “Baiting him again.”

Spock raised an eyebrow, but did not attempt to burn Kirk verbally. He wouldn’t, or couldn’t, use the same method on his beloved captain, even if Kirk used no such restraints on himself.

“Now, listen you two,” Kirk addressed his two chastised friends. “I think there’s some double meaning going on in your relationship that neither one of you is aware of. I think that your subconscious minds might be trying to tell you something that you’re not wanting to hear. So it has to use, ah, unconventional methods to get your attention.”

“But, Captain--”

McCoy frowned. “Jim--”

Kirk held up his hand. “I’m just saying that the situation needs looking into. I propose you talk about it and see what you can make of it. If necessary, take it to its logical conclusion so we can all have some peace and quiet around here.”

“What are you suggesting, Jim?” McCoy inquired, even though his cheeks were beginning to pinken up. Apparently, he had an idea about what Kirk was going to say.

“Let Spock assault your citadel, Bones,” Kirk said softly. “Let him be a pain in the ass to you. Literally.” He sighed. "Then maybe lunch can be a little quieter for all of us. And we can get some of the sexual tension resolved around here."

“Oh,” McCoy said, then colored violently again as Kirk’s meaning fully registered. “Oh!”

Kirk pulled back and shrugged. “Can’t hurt. And Spock will be real careful. I imagine that he could be a real attentive and considerate lover. Besides, you might decide that you like it.”

McCoy looked doubtful. “Like what?! Being screwed in the ass?! By Spock?!” he snapped, being careful to keep his inside voice very low because he certainly wasn’t watching what he said. “I don’t think so!”

Spock looked startled, finally understanding. Someone had finally said something plainly enough for even him to understand. “Why would I ever want to do something like that to you?”

“What in the hell do you think we’ve been talking about?!” McCoy roared, tossing away his inside voice to join his discarded socially acceptable language skills. The ladies in the room were on their own with their delicate sensibilities.

“Not that!” Spock reassured him adamantly.

“I beg to differ! Most assuredly that!" Then defensive McCoy got another thought. "What's the problem?! Ain't I good enough for you?!”

"It is not that," Spock tried to answer diplomatically. "I cannot think of a more repugnant act to subject you to--"

"Nah, it's me! I know it is!" McCoy decided. "Someone else would acceptable in a heartbeat, I suppose!"

"I have too much respect for you--"

"Put respect in one hand and spit in the other. Then see which one would get full quicker."

"I do not understand why spitting in my hand has any bearing on what we are discussing--"

"You can't be that dense! Nobody can be that stumped by a simple statement! Wait! I know what it is! You're getting off on it again, ain't you?! Yeah, that's it! You're screwing with me again! Only this time, it's not my rear caboose you're after! You want to ruin my mind, too! You're not content with just tearing the hell outa my rear end!"

A fork clattered and some guy had a coughing fit.

"Guys, guys," Kirk begged as he noticed heads twisted their way again. A few gasps and titters were heard. And even a "Well, I never!" But mostly, the three at the table were treated to a barrage of glares and stares and the usual smirks from a few voyeurs.

“We really have to be more careful," Kirk warned. “Everyone on this shift who’s eating in the mess hall now will have acid indigestion before long.” He touched his stomach. “I think my own is starting to act up already.”

“It could be all of that rich beef stew chased by that triple fudge cake that you just stuffed in your mouth quicker than a magician can make a rabbit disappear!” McCoy snarled at him. "Did you think we were going to fight you for it?! Or maybe you just thought all of this sex talk would divert us from your horde of food?!"

Kirk noticed the sideways glance of disgust from other diners. There were even some smirks mixed in with open envy. “Maybe we should adjourn this discussion to this evening,” Kirk suggested. “Besides, it’s nearly time to get back to the Bridge. And, Bones, I’m sure that there’s some work waiting for you in Sickbay.”

“Probably treating all the people who’re getting acid indigestion because of my loud mouth!” he snapped back.

“Be that as it may, shall we say that lunch is over, gentlemen?” Kirk asked as he stood.

“Over. Finished. Ruined. Concluded. Came to a screening halt. Whatever,” McCoy muttered as he pulled himself to his feet, too.

“Might I say that I may need a further definition of terms about our recent discussion, Doctor?” Spock remarked as the two guys headed for the door of the mess hall.

“Always glad to help a fellow crew mate,” McCoy said with a tight-lipped smile of interest. If the Vulcan could act like they had been talking in the abstract, so could he. “What would you like cleared up first?”

"Perhaps this location is not the best place for such a discussion."

McCoy gave him a level look. Maybe the Vulcan wasn't as abstract or as dense as McCoy supposed. Well, hell, McCoy could give him some rope. Might be interesting what Spock might do with that rope. "Anytime, Mr. Spock. Any place."

"Wherever you say, Doctor," Spock said amiably. "After all, it is your citadel."

McCoy waggled his eyebrows in interest. "Hmm. Excellent point." McCoy tried to hide how stunned he was. The Vulcan, it appeared, was way ahead of him!

Spock lifted his own eyebrow. "I thought so." Then he waggled his eyebrows back at McCoy.

Holy shit! The Vulcan could flirt!

Spock stood aside so McCoy could exit the mess hall first. "Doctor? After you."

"You just want to be back there so you'll have a better view of my butt," McCoy muttered.

"Perhaps," Spock agreed as if that was not the case, but he did take a moment for a quick glimpse at McCoy's behind. He apparently found it not lacking, for he followed it out of the door as if it was a Pied Piper of sorts.

Behind them, Kirk rolled his eyes and shook his head. For a moment there, he thought that the whole discussion had either gone over the heads of the two guys or had been stored away by them in a drawer marked "Denials." He'd really lost heart when Spock and McCoy had donned their professional identities and had started being nice on their way out the door. Polite, but aloof to each other. That kind of behavior was a romance-killer for sure!

Then the tempo, and the words, between them had changed, and Kirk's hope for them perked up again.

To the casual observer, it might seem that Spock and McCoy were headed their separate ways to their own lonely quarters after their shifts. But maybe not. Those last few words they'd exchanged about McCoy's butt were encouraging. Kirk felt that there were good prospects for a favorable improvement in their friendship.

The two could be their own worst enemies, especially when it came to each other. And neither seemed willing to give up their mutual bickering anytime soon. But maybe it could be used for a new purpose, though. Say that of spicing up a new physical relationship? Kirk grinned to himself as he thought of all sorts of ways that bickering could be used.

Behind the three officers, the last stragglers in mess hall finished their luncheons and hurried back to their various posts for the rest of their shifts. It sure was nice to know that everything was still normal on the Enterprise, they thought, even if Spock and McCoy's bickering could sometimes get out of hand. At least it was something familiar, though, and somehow oddly comforting in its predictability.

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing of Star Trek, its characters, and/or its story lines.


End file.
